Shifting Paths
by Loke
Summary: What if Emily Quartermaine never became Emily Quartermaine? What if fate pushed a young Emily Bowen toward a different existence? See what happens when that Emily finds her way to PC, and into the lives of the people she was destined to know. AU
1. Default Chapter

**(A/N)**Hey guys, it's me again. And before my faithful readers of my other fics get upset at me for starting yet another project, let me say that I'm sorry, but that I just can't help myself. It's a sickness and I am seeking help. :-p

Anyway, I got the idea for this story one day while watching that movie Sliding Doors. I just took the basic concept (the 'what-if' question) and went hog-wild with it. The plot doesn't mirror the movie at all, so don't worry. In fact, I'm not entirely sure that there even is a plot yet, lol.

Here's the basic set up:

The story is about Emily, duh. I don't really think I'm capable of writing anything else, lol. Anyway, it centers on her and what could have become of her life if Emily's mother hadn't been estranged from her sister Corrie, and if once Paige had passed, Corrie had been more than willing to take Emily. It's massively far-fetched, but bear with me here. This is fan _fiction_. Live a little.

Anyway, the story starts just as Emily gets some pretty crushing news and as a result embarks on a new chapter in her twenty-year-old life, bringing her to none other than Port Charles, everyone's favorite city. Now remember, in this fic, I'm removing any incidences where Emily may have met the Qs (aside from Monica) previously—since her mother's relationship with Emily's aunt was solid and she never moved to PC during Paige's last months—so that when she gets to town, she'll basically be anonymous—aside from Monica. She'll just be a girl making a fresh start and who inadvertently gets tangled up with all the people she would have known if things had been different. Again, I know, this is totally far-fetched. But I really like the idea and I think it'll be fun to play with. It'll give me a chance to take a stab at building relationships, instead of just drawing off existing bonds, like Jason and Em's for instance. Plus, I plan on making this story a nice break from my super angst-driven stories. This one will be lighter, maybe even have itty-bitty traces of gasp _fluff_ later on down the road. I don't know yet. So yeah; I'll reveal as we go. It'll be more fun that way. Or at least I hope it will be. lol

Other notes, on the PC crew: Okay, since we won't get Emily into PC for a couple of chapters yet, I'll leave the summarizing of all that to a later date, since it'll probably take a while. Oy.

**Shifting Paths**

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**Chapter One: The Goodby Girl**

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_I'm leaving today_

I'm living it, leaving it to change –"Cruz" Christina Aguilera

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It had to be a mistake. That was all a thunderstruck Emily Bowen could think. It just had to be some sort of mistake. She cocked her head to the side, not understanding, and focused her dark eyes on the man sitting on the couch in her living room.

"_What?"_

The young man, a tanned twenty-something with messy dirty-blonde hair and cut-you-to-the-bone hazel eyes, gazed back up at her, his sharp-featured face set and determined. "I said, maybe we should take a break." He shrugged his leather-clad shoulders nonchalantly. "You know, give each other some space."

Emily still wasn't getting this. He couldn't mean what she thought he meant. _He wouldn't dare…_ "Space?" she echoed him, saying the word as if she'd never hear of it before.

"Yeah, _space_," he answered. It was evident in the twitching of his jaw muscles that his patience was wearing thin. It made Emily want to slap him. "Breathing room."

_Why that little bastard…_ Suddenly Emily wasn't confused anymore. Nope, she was pissed. Royally. "What—three thousand miles isn't enough? You've been living in _L.A._ for six months, Jimmy, how much more breathing room do you need?"

Jimmy sighed wearily. "I don't know, Emmie. More?"

"Any more '_breathing room'_ and you'll be living in the frickin' Pacific Ocean!" she exploded, and then closed her eyes and tried desperately to calm down; she didn't want to lose it right now. It was too easy to lose it when it came to him. _Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out… _

For the past five years, Jimmy Stafford, an up-and-comer on the local rock circuit, had been her boyfriend. But they had been friends much longer, having gone to both one year of intermediate and most of high school together. In her senior year, Jimmy decided that their home—Warren County, Georgia—wasn't where he wanted to be to further his career, so he left and moved to Miami. Why there, she wasn't entirely sure. But it didn't matter. As soon as she could, Emily followed him, leaving everything that wouldn't come with her behind, and doing it without question. That had been two years ago. And though he had since relocated—again—she stayed because Jimmy made it clear that at the end of the day this was where he wanted to be. In Miami. With her. But Emily wasn't stupid; she knew Jimmy was a driven man and that his dreams of 'hitting it big' would take him away from Miami, maybe even for good one day—if his band ever got their big break. She saw that coming.

But she never saw _this_ coming.

Sure, things had been rocky between them lately, but then that's just the way she and Jimmy were. They fought like hell and made up like bunnies. Their relationship had always resembled a really out-there rollercoaster ride; it went up and down and back and forth, had moments that made you so happy you could scream, turned your stomach in knots, and others that scared the hell out of you. But in the end it was always okay. They always ended up back on solid ground. Never fail. That was why she just didn't get where this was coming from….

Still not trusting herself to look at him, Emily thought it was best to sit before gravity took care of that problem for her. "Jimmy… Jim, I don't understand…"

"What's there to understand?" he barked, his voice finding an edge that only served to confuse Emily further. "We knew going into this it wasn't going to be easy. Or have you already forgotten the fight we had when I left Miami?"

She shook her head sadly. No, she hadn't forgotten. The fight had been epic, more screaming and yelling and crying than she'd ever partaken in. Aunt Corrie and Uncle Travis had spent hours on the phone with her, trying to calm her down. Emily had been livid, she felt so hurt, so abandoned. But, again, that had been a whole six months ago. And they'd survived it, they'd come out _alive_. Slowly, Emily met his eyes. And then instantly wished she hadn't. Staring back at her was the face of a man who wanted out. She couldn't see anything in them but impatience. No conflicting emotions. No sadness. No remorse. No hint of the person she'd fallen in love with when she was fifteen-years-old. Nothing. It made her stomach roll over.

"Look, I should probably go," he said, bouncing to his feet in one fluid motion. "My flight leaves in an hour."

Instantly, Emily, torn from her lamentations, and was on her own feet. She reached out and grabbed his arm as he tried to move past her. "Wait—you're just going to _leave_? Just like that?"

Hazel boring into chestnut, he sighed again, but this time, to her relief, she heard traces of sadness in it. "It's for the best, Emmie. You may not see that now, but you will. Eventually."

"Eventually? Five goddamn years together, Jimmy, and all you can give me is '_eventually'_?" Emily's fingers dug deeper into his arm, tears filling her eyes. How could this be happening? They were supposed to be forever. "I can't believe you…"

"Look, I'm sorry. I know it doesn't count for anything and that you probably hate me right now, but this is the way it has to be. It's over." Jimmy ducked his head for a moment and then looked back at her, his eyes devoid of the impatience she saw before. They were filled with what looked almost like pity to her now. He raised a calloused hand to her face and gently ran his thumb over her cheek.

"Goodbye, Emily."

**Two Weeks Later…**

The city buzzed around her, in all its urban glory. The night sky was deep ebony which should have been midnight blue, had it not been for the street lamps and neon glare of a lit-up Miami. The city was in full effect around her, burning bright and flashy, as always, while the fresh breeze off the water swirled around it all, doing little to cool the frenzy that was Miami at night. And Emily watched all this from a window in her apartment, deep in contemplation.

Yes, the city was an epicenter of energy and life, and while she'd lived here she'd loved it. But the reason she came here—and stayed here—to begin with just up and took off, glided out of town two weeks ago on a United flight bound for the West Coast. And where did that leave her?

As Emily's brown eyes skimmed the fluorescent jumble before her, and then out to the water that stretched forever, she couldn't help but feel out of place. Miami was a wonderful city and a great place to live. But it wasn't hers, and it never had been. It had all been some borrowed dream, a life built upon someone else's ambition.

But what did _she_ want? What did _she_, Emily Bowen, want to make of her life?

_Funny_, she thought, she'd never asked herself that question before. Follow blindly, that was more how she worked, at least when it came to Jimmy. But now Jimmy was gone and Emily didn't know what to do next.

And then it hit her.

_Anything she wanted. _

She didn't have to move in-step to what would make Jimmy Stafford's life easier anymore, to what would help _him_ go that extra mile. She didn't have to think about anyone else. She was an adult and now she was free. For the first time since she was fifteen her life could be just that—_hers_. Her ideas, her desires, her dreams, and her decisions. Just her.

A tiny smile broke over Emily's face. This had started out an ending, but now she knew better. It was a beginning. It was her chance to start over.

And that was exactly what she'd do.

**The Next Day…**

"What's with the suitcase?"

Emily looked up. Standing in the doorway of her bedroom was someone she'd spent nearly all her adolescent years getting into unbelievable trouble with, her certified partner-in-crime, Ryan Hewitt—one of the things that 'came with her' when she left Warren County. But unlike her, Ryan had actually set down roots here, came because he wanted to, not because he felt he had to.

Sighing, Emily let her eyes rove over her friend fondly: his roguishly handsome face was muted by a sullen frown and a pair of concerned eyes. It reminded Emily that she still had things worth holding onto here. But as quickly as it turned up, she pushed the thought down and became determined not to let it change her mind. She looked away from him and set about folding a peach-colored blouse.

"I'm leaving," she said simply.

She expected him to surge over to her and dump the suitcase on the ground, all while yelling "_don't be an idiot!" _at her. But it never happened. Instead, after a few very long moments, Ryan, tall-framed, broad-shouldered, and raven-haired, broke the threshold and lazily crossed the room to Emily. Peering over her shoulder he raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at the open suitcase and strewn about clothing that littered her made bed. "This about Jimmy?"

She almost laughed then because as valid as his question was, he couldn't have been further off the mark. "No, Ryan," she said glancing up at him. "For once this isn't about Jimmy. It's about me."

Ryan rocked back on his heels and pocketed his hands, nodding easily. Like he was absorbing it all in stride. Nice and easy-like. "Where are you goin'?"

She shrugged her shoulders, looking anywhere but at him. If she looked at him during this interrogation, she'd chicken out. And that was the last thing she wanted. "I was thinking New York, maybe. Any place that isn't here or L.A., basically."

"What about home? Corrie? I'm sure she'd be glad to see you."

Emily shook her head sternly. Home wasn't a viable choice, either. Besides, it wasn't _really_ home. It was Aunt Corrie's home. She'd never felt that connection to it that Corrie did. It was just another place to her. A nice place, same as Miami, but still just a place. "No," she said. "I don't want to burden Corrie and Travis again. Besides, it wouldn't feel right, you know? Not after the way I left."

She heard Ryan cluck his tongue to the side of her. "Riiiiiight," he drawled in that southern accent he was utterly convinced he didn't have. "And this wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that you hated it there?"

"I didn't hate it there."

"Oh, come _on_. You could hardly wait to skip town."

She looked up at him them, giving him a pointed glare. "Neither could you," she shot back.

He didn't pale or budge, just held his ground as usual, face firm and unmovable. "I'm gay, Em. That wasn't skipping town. That was being smart. Call it survivor's instinct."

Emily waved her hand dismissively and went back to packing. "Nonsense," she tutted. "Nothing would have happened to you there. Everybody loved you."

"Because everybody didn't know," he snapped. Sighing wearily, he raked a hand through his hair. "Look, this isn't about me, Emily. I'm glad I left Warren County, and I'm glad I came here. I'm not the one looking to up and leave again. That would be you."

For what seemed like the hundredth time since he'd shown up, Emily paused from her packing and stared blankly at the clothes on her bed while she spoke, not really seeing. "Ryan… there isn't anything here for me anymore."

"Not _anything_?" She heard the climb to his tone, the pinch of hurt there. It made her look at him. "What about me?" he asked her, his pale green eyes reflecting the hurt in his voice.

Emily crumbled a bit inside, just as she knew she would. "Don't be silly," she said softly, abandoning her suitcase and crossing over toward him. She snuck her arms around his waist in a familiar hug, and buried her face in his shoulder. "You know I love you, Ry."

Emily felt Ryan's hand curve up her back and hold her there, and she knew he was trying to keep her from leaving, and in more ways than one. "Yeah, I know," he replied sadly. "But just not enough to stick around, right?"

She cringed at his words and pulled back enough to look straight into his eyes, the eyes that had seen right through her from the time she was eleven years old, ever since her first day in Warren County. She knew that part of him got what she was doing, but that another part just didn't want to let go of his best friend. She felt the same way. She would miss him, but she had to take this step, and before she did, she wanted him to understand why this so important.

"You were right before," she said. "This isn't about you or about how much I care for you—which you know damn well is a hell of a lot. It's about what's right for me, about what I want. And this town isn't what I want. It never was. It was _Jimmy's_ stepping stone, the path to _his_ future. And now that he's moved on without me…" She shrugged her shoulders, a sadness that broke Ryan's heart creeping into her eyes. "Ryan, I need to find out that there's more to me than just what existed for him. And that's not going to happen here _or_ in Warren. I need to find my own way, Ry. I need to do this for _myself_. Please understand that."

Ryan let a sad smile curve his lips as he looked down at her beautiful face. He could see the determination in it, the same look she'd had when they were twelve and Billy Walters said she was just a 'stupid girl', and that she couldn't climb to the top of the water tower like he could. Well, after she'd given him a black eye, she proved Billy Walters wrong that day and did it with that same stone-faced determination. And something told Ryan that this would be no different. Sure, there wasn't any battered-up Billy Walters heckling her from the ground, but there still was a tower of sorts, an obstacle. One she would conquer. And this time she wouldn't be proving something to Billy or to anyone else, for that matter. She'd be proving it to herself.

Ryan had the sudden urge to laugh. Wherever this girl ended up had better be prepared for one hell of a storm, because Emily Bowen was coming their way.

And she was a woman on a mission.

**TBC…**

Next Chap: In which Emily hops a plane, bids farewell to her old life, and hello to her new one.

P.S: So… intrigued so far, repulsed… bored to tears? Let me know either way. I know this first chap was slow but it was a builder that needed to be done before I shipped her off to PC. And a few days have passed since my top note so I now have _tons_ of things planned for this story, especially for Emily's interactions with PC folk. I'm actually kinda excited about it (I'm such a dork). So, anyway, please take a minute to review and let me know if I should green-light this or not.

Oh, and yes, Emily will be getting her romance on once she gets acclimated in PC, I just haven't decided with whom yet. I'm totally open to suggestions… as long as they don't include Nikolas. ;)


	2. It's Never Easy

**(A/N) **Wow, it's been ages, huh? Well, I've dusted this sucker off and have actually constructed (loosely) a whole plot for it. Yay me… lol. But anyway, here's the second installment. But before you dive in, I just want to remind some of my more action seeking readers, that this is a building chapter. I can't just plop Emily in the middle of PC, it would be pandemonium. Well, okay maybe not pandemonium, but it would be a mess and I like to have structure. So that's what I'm doing, adding structure, and by that I mean character building and back-story. Look for Emily to get her sea legs in PC by chapter 4.

**Reviewers:**

Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! I know it's been months (and months) since I updated, but I still just wanted to thank all of you for your kind words and encouragement. Oh, and for all the suggestions; they helped me out a lot:o) --Loke

**Shifting Paths**

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**Chapter Two: It's Never Easy**

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She was leaving. Em, little Emmie-Bear, the girl who would subsequently kick your ass if you dared call her that while _not_ being Ryan Hewitt, was leaving, and said Ryan Hewitt still couldn't get his head around it. Even as he picked her up from her apartment, during the strangely quite ride to Miami International, and even presently, as he watched her check in at the flight counter. He thought that maybe it should be sinking in by now. After all, she was practically _gone_. But, no, all Ryan could see as he settled a pair of pale eyes on her back was a girl that had come to be damn near the center of his universe, and a girl that just couldn't really be leaving him, but that was. They hadn't spent more than a day apart in nine years. How could she honestly pack up and _leave_, like, for _good_? It didn't compute. He went where she went, she went where he went, and he _wasn't_ going anywhere. So… what kind of sense did all this make?

Emily smiled politely at the woman behind the counter and started back toward him, excitedly waving her one-way ticket to Port Charles, New York. And it still didn't make sense in Ryan's head, but, as he forced himself to accept in that moment, it was reality. And if anybody understood that feasibility was by no means a requirement for fact, it was Ryan. It didn't have to make sense to happen. But that still didn't mean he had to like it. Or even act like he did.

"I'm all squared away," she announced in a cheery, sugar-sweet voice that dripped enthusiasm he couldn't feel. "Plane should be here in…" She shot her watch a quick glance and hitched up the backpack on her shoulder. "Looks like we just made it; only ten minutes 'till boarding. Just enough time for a proper goodbye, wouldn't ya say?"

The way she was smiling up at him reminded him eerily of the time when she was fourteen, and Emily, at the absolute end of her rope _and_ her wits, hatched a plan to dig out of Warren and hit the open road—_without_ him. He'd seen the signs of "fight or flight" back then, and, being a whole four months older and also having a sense of persuasion that was just a mite more seasoned than hers, he'd managed to talk her down and keep her close. It had happened a few times since then, where she'd get that _look_ in her eye and that tilt to her smile that just screamed "I need to get the hell out", but he'd always managed to diffuse those situations, and had never doubted his ability to do so… until now. Now he knew for certain that he could get on his knees and beg her to stay and it still wouldn't make one bit of difference. Not this time. This time she was as good as gone. He could see that in her eyes, too.

Apparently, his choice to ponder and not flash the knee-jerk smile raised a bit of a red flag with Emily. She sighed, her gaze becoming heavy, tired almost. "Ry, _please_, don't do this…"

He rolled his shoulders in that nonchalant, uninterested way he knew she hated. "I'm not doin' anythin'."

"Yes," she whispered, stepping forward and resting a hand on his chest, gentle intent flickering in her gaze. "You _are_. And I'd really like it if you'd stop."

God, he knew that voice. Soft and calm. This was _her_ persuasive power. A tender hand and a careful voice, and as she unleashed it on him he struggled to tune it out and stay strong willed in his grumpiness.

He lasted three whole seconds. A new world record.

Mentally hating his lack of a spine, he looked down at her, warm brown meeting ethereal green. _Damnit._ As much as he prided himself on being able to read the girl like no one alive, he was forced to remember that it kind of went both ways in their relationship. She knew he was angling for a fight, and she wasn't going to give it to him. No way, no how. Ryan sighed; Emily smiled. She'd won, and she _knew_ it.

She snaked an arm around his waist and drew him to her, still looking _way_ too pleased with herself. "Thank you," she said sweetly.

Inside, he was still brooding about his sound trouncing, but he accommodated her form anyway, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and resting his chin on the top of her head. He was a proud man, but even proud men had to realize when they were outfoxed. And boy was he ever. "I still don't like this, Emmie," he admitted, feeling a tad better about himself for being able to voice his misgivings and not wussing out completely.

"I know you don't," came her muffled reply. She shifted in his hold and rested her ear against his chest by his heart, an odd and kind of sad habit she had. Almost like she just needed to be sure it was still beating or something, still there. "But I really don't want to spend my last ten minutes in Miami fighting about it, okay? That's what phone calls are for."

He laughed at that. See, it was a bit of an inside joke between them. A few years ago, when Jimmy moved out to Miami to start with, and he and Emily he had been trying to do the long-distance thing, the star-crossed pair had come up with a policy to make whatever 'togetherness' time they had go as smoothly as possible: Leave the bitching for the telephone. Meaning no arguing whatsoever was allowed during the precious bits of face-to-face time they got. All the ugly stuff—and there was _lots_—was reserved until both parties were safely back at their respective residences. Sure, in retrospect, the idea was deeply unhealthy—not to mention doing its part to prolong one of the most passionately insane relationships Ryan had ever come across, but, at the time it seemed to work okay enough for Emily and, hell, even Jimmy.

And _there_ was a whole different problem. The Jimmy Problem. She hadn't wanted to talk about it, not even a little since the breakup, but now that she was actually skipping town, Ryan couldn't ignore it anymore. See, Emily… Well, Emmie was good at running, but—and this was the problem part—Jimmy was equally at good at _finding_ her. And making her take him back. He'd witnessed it literally dozens of times since high school, and, even though Em did her best to make it clear that things were truly done this time, Ryan still had his doubts. History wouldn't give him any other choice, and, before he could stop himself, those doubts came pouring out of his mouth in typical Hewitt, 'don't look before you leap' fashion.

"What if Jimmy shows up in Port Charles?"

The question had been so sudden, that he could tell it shocked her; she stiffened against him and pulled back abruptly. Her eyes were narrowed and confused. "What—_why_ would you even ask that?"

She sounded out and out appalled and Ryan just couldn't figure out why. She had been present for the past six years, right? She _did_ remember how this whole star-crossed, meant to be together bullshit worked between her and that 'I'm-a-rockstar-now' asshole? Those two were like a bad movie on constant loop. Destined to repeat the same lameass fight, and sappy, vomit-inducing make-up scene over and over again until either they died or someone's head exploded. How in the hell could she think this time would be any different?

"Oh, come on, Em," he sighed. "You _know_ that it'll only be a mater of time before the Jackass decides to come crawling back, spewing on and on about what a horrible mistake he—"

"No," She snapped. "What I _know_ is what I told you, Ry. And I _told_ you that's not going to happen this—"

"Gimmie a break," Ryan snorted. "Who are you trying to fool?"

At this, Emily blinked furiously for a moment, her jaw twitched, and Ryan took an automatic half-step back.

Uh-oh. That was _so_ not a good reaction.

"Okay," he ventured carefully, flashing a nervous smile. "Now, what I _meant_ to say was how can you _really_ be sure? That it's actually, you know, _done_ this time?" At the slight softening of her face, Ryan almost felt compelled to give himself a congratulatory pat on the back for neutralizing The Beast. Almost. Because Ryan soon came to see that it wasn't necessarily a _softening_ he had witnessed, so much as a… wilting

_And, oh God, was that her chin trembling? _

Ryan placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. He wasn't all that good at this sort of thing. Yes, he was gay, but not every stereo-type out there is accurate. Sure, he had fashion sense that would make Dior blush, and an eye for design that would have Martha dropping to her knees. But he couldn't stand Barbra Streisand, would take an ice-cold beer straight from the bottle over a glass of wine any day, loved football and basketball for more than just eye-candy purposes, and was just as inept in dealing with complex female emotions as any other average American male. This meant that crying women not only mystified Ryan, but they also kinda freaked him out. Especially _this_ crying woman, and even more so because he knew intimately just how much she _hated_ crying.

"Hey, Sweetie," Ryan cooed in a wavering, unsure voice. "I'm—I'm s-sorry. I didn't mean to upset—"

"No," she said quickly, rubbing a hand over her angelic face, trying to swipe away any traces of the crack in her composure. "It's… it's not your fault, okay? I just… Jimmy's not going to come to Port Charles, Ryan. He's not going to follow me and profess his undying love. Not this time."

The look that cast itself in her eyes as she said those words simply broke Ryan's heart. And he realized that for the past three weeks, that was exactly what she'd been waiting for Jimmy to do. Come back. Only… he hadn't. He hadn't even attempted to contact her this time. Not a word, spoken or written. Nothing. _That's_ what the tears were about. Emily and Jimmy, the king and queen of the one week reconcile, were really and truly over. It was done. And it was _killing_ her. Ryan sighed and drew her into another hug.

"I'm, uh… not really sure what to say here," he said in a near whisper. "I mean, you know that I really stink at this stuff, and, Em, I know it hurts a lot, but it's… it's gonna be okay. I don't know how yet, but it will be." He paused and smiled gently down at her. "_You_ will be. I promise."

A precious light filled her eyes as she gazed up at him. "And how can you be so sure?"

"Because you're strong, Em, and you've survived worse. Much worse. Getting over that asshole should be a walk in the park compared to the rest."

"The rest," she sighed, the words rolling off her tongue sounding like something ugly and broken, which, in a way, it was. "There has been a lot, huh?" she asked heavily.

"Too much," he said, and squeezed her shoulder, hoping the comfort of his touch would chase away the shadows that had suddenly dimmed that light in her eyes, and knowing it wouldn't work. Not entirely. There was too much lurking behind the brave smile and the shimmering brown depths that even his assuaging embrace could ever rid her of. She'd been through more crap in her short twenty years than most did in a lifetime. But she'd always come out the other side of it, and swingin' at that. And she'd do the same thing here. He just wished she didn't have to fight for her happy ending. It didn't really seem fair, not after everything else she'd had to fight for.

In that moment, with Emily's in his arms, safe from anyone or thing that could ever do her harm, Ryan felt like a father having to be apart from his only daughter for the first time in both their lives, and wished very deeply that he could pause time and keep everything just as it was: quiet and simple; a sheltered bubble in the middle of a crowded terminal.

But, as was wont to happen, the bubble burst and the real world bled in on them again, a high-pitched voice squawking out a boarding call for flight number 518—Miami to PC, non-stop.

Emily's flight.

Looking down at her, he soldiered through with a scant smile. "You'll call, right?"

"Everyday," she smiled broadly back at him.

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TBC…

Next Chapter: Wherein Emily does some remembering, some contemplating, and a plane touches down.

(a/n) Just a little heads up on the future pairing of this thing. After getting quite a few emails and a decent amount of reviews suggesting a Jason/Emily pairing, I've decided to give it a go. Now, don't freak out. This is an **ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE** story to the max, so that means, in _this_ universe Emily and Jason are _not_ living as brother and sister. And since they aren't related at all anyway, it doesn't really make that much of a difference. I agonized quite a bit over whether or not to do this, but after hashing it out with a couple very helpful people (You guys know how you are), I decided to just go for it. But I will say this: If you really dislike the idea of an AU Jason/Emily pairing, just don't read this story. And please don't send me pissy emails or flame me via reviews, that's just rude. If you don't like it, find something else to read and move on quietly. But if you have some writing advice, like critiques or whatnot, I'm always open to constructive criticism as long it's about _writing_, not plot or storyline. :)

Okay, now that that's over… on to chapter 3! -------- 


	3. Out With The Old

**(a/n) **One last thing: In the first chapter I said Jimmy was a year older than Emily. Forget that. I've made him three years older than her. It may not seem like much but for the time they were together, I think the bigger age difference will better explain why Emily had/has such a dependency on him and why he was such a central part of life.

**Shifting Paths**

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**Chapter Three: Out with the Old… **

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_The sun was out in full force, making her clothes—a simple yellow tank top and a worn denim skirt—cling to her lithe frame, and ride up her thighs in a way that Aunt Corrie would have told her looked 'indecent.' But, sitting there on the abandoned swing set, a cloudless 103 degree sky blazing mercilessly above her, Emily didn't much care. Actually no—that wasn't quite true; she hoped it _did _look indecent _and _managed to attract the 'wrong element', too. At least then she'd have something a little more interesting to do than sitting there sweating to death. But that in itself was pure wishful thinking; nothing interesting ever happened in Warren, and even less happened during a Warren summer. Emily sighed resignedly. She was doomed to rot on that swing set. Well, until dinner at least. _

_Crafting random patterns in the sand with her sneaker, Emily was contemplating the idea of crashing Ryan's shift at Hattie's Diner and forcing him to entertain her when a shadow fell across her masterpiece. _

_She stared at it. Hmm. She knew that shadow. A lump rose in her throat. _Okay, _she coached herself_, be calm. Don't freak out. _Maybe if she closed her eyes and opened them again, the shadow _and _its bearer would be gone. Taking an especially long blink, Emily popped an eye and chanced a peek. _

_Damn. Still there. _

_She calmly bit down on her tongue to keep from screaming out in panic. The aforementioned 'wrong element' in Warren she could more than handle. The people who thought they were the 'wrong element' were all pretty much harmless teenage boys trying everything in their pubescent power to get laid. No real crime in that. They were actually quite useful in the comic-relief department. _

_But this shadow was a different story. This shadow wasn't remotely funny and he didn't just _try _to get laid. He succeeded. And often. Very often. And lately he'd seen fit to place her smack dab in the crosshairs of his naughty, determined mind. A plaice she'd thought she'd wanted to be, had actually worked quite hard at to be, but now wasn't so sure about anymore. Truthfully, now that she knew a little better what this particular position entailed, the idea of filling it kinda scared the hell out of her. Like, a _lot

_The shadow shifted, arms crossing, and Emily was jolted back to reality. Probably speaking would be a good idea, she thought. Probably that's what Mr. Shadow was waiting for. Emily slumped down in the swing seat and chewed nervously at her lip. Probably she had no clue what to say and so he'd be waiting a while. _

"_Aren't you gonna say hello?" The voice was familiar and affecting; a rolling baritone that sent little sparks to all kinds of places. _

_Emily bit her lip again. She couldn't _not _say hello (that was just bad manners), but if she _did _that would only open the floodgates to, you know, actual conversation with him and _that _had a way of leading to…unique situations. Especially in their case. After a long moment though, good breeding, or at least what could pass for it, won out in the end. _

"_Hello." Ha! _There_, she thought. She'd said it and no chasms in the Earth had opened up to swallow her whole. No way in Hell was she going to look at him, though. _That _would be pushing her luck and would definitely lead to trouble. Big trouble. _

_Above her, the sound of a clucked tongue caught the warm summer breeze. "Come on, now. You know you can do better than that."_

_Oh, this one was tough. She knew he was baiting her on purpose and she didn't want to fall for it…_again_, but she hated when he used that tone. It just begged for her to smart-ass him back. "Would you have preferred 'Howdy?'" Clearly, her resolve in this department was lacking as well. Damn. She was 0 for 2. _

_Her quip was rewarded with a laugh. Low and deep and soft, just like his voice. There went the sparks again. Crap._

"_No," he said slowly, his shadow inching ever closer to her. "What I'd prefer, is for you to look at me." _

_Ha! Like she was going to take _that_ risk. Pfft. Emily kicked stubbornly at the sand. "Sorry. No can do." _

_Another laugh; more sparks. Goddamn hormones. _

"_And why not?"_

_To her horror she actually answered him. The smart thing to do would have been to shrug and keep on swingin', but, well, _hello_. This was _her_. The Smart Thing was often times railroaded and crushed to death by the Impulsive Thing. Standard Bowen trait, or so she'd been told. Your lips start moving before your brain does. And that's just what happened. "Because," she huffed. "As long as I don't initiate eye-contact, I'm safe." The second the words were out, Emily was left to marvel at her own stupidity. _Safe? Jeez Louise, did that just come out of my mouth? _She couldn't have done more to encourage the big jerk if she'd lunged at him and rammed her tongue down his throat. _

_An evil smile, one she couldn't see (though, the shadow's cheeks did seem fuller), pulled at his mouth. "That's bullshit."_

_Well, yeah. But it wasn't like she wasn't going to admit it. Another standard Bowen trait. Instead she gritted her teeth and stood her ground, no matter how shaky. "It's a very valid theory," she snapped, and then paused. "And it is _not _bullshit. Out of sight, out of mind."_

_A pair of hands came down on top of hers and brought her swinging to a halt. He stroked gentle circles on the backs of her hands with his ring fingers. "I'm not so sure that's true, Babe," he whispered, and Emily's heart stuttered in her chest. Ever the daring one, he stepped closer, nudging her foot to the side with his, making room for himself to stand between her legs. His head was lowered and close; his breath warm on her overheated skin. "But if you don't believe me…I could always prove it to you." _

_That lump in her throat quadrupled in size and Emily felt her mouth go dry. "Stop it."_

_He dragged his thumbs slowly over her pulse points. "Stop what?" _

_Ahh! That was it. He could play this game all damn day and never (never!) get tired of it. He lived for the Cat and Mouse thing, thrived off it even, but Emily on the other hand was pretty fed up with it. Incensed she looked up at him and was immediately struck by the wicked smirk he wore. Her look gave way to a glare. "You know exactly what I'm talking about! You have to stop this, Jimmy. Travis is gonna murder you if you don't."_

_His eyes, pale hazel, narrowed slightly like he was considering something, but only for an instant. "You're overreacting," he told her finally. _

"_Overreacting!_ _You got caught, by my uncle, with your hand up my skirt. In **church**!" Emily squinted at his unaffected demeanor in disbelief. "How can you possibly be so calm about this?" _

"_First off, sweetheart, _we _got caught. And second, I'm calm because I'm totally innocent." _

"_Innocent…?" She blinked at him. "Are—are you _high_?" _

"_No, I'm not," he said. "I'm tellin' ya, Babe—I'm a perfectly innocent man." _

_She reined in a guffaw. "Oh, riiiiiight. So, that was some other Jimmy Stafford getting all acquainted with my undies in the back pew of St. Anne's?"_

_Jimmy grinned, wide and utterly sinful. "Oh, no, that was definitely me. But I was just doing my sacred duty as a Christian." _

_Lord, she was afraid to ask. But she did anyway. "And that would be…?" _

_His eyes got dark, gleaming wickedly, and before she knew what was happening, Jimmy was kneeling in front of her and had a hand on each of her thighs. Fingertips, calloused from football and guitar, trailed upward, teasing the hem of her skirt. "Showing appreciation for one of God's most…precious creations."_

Holy shit! _For a good ten seconds that was all she could think. But then reality came crashing back, and Emily realized that Jimmy Stafford was trying, for the second time in four days, to get into her panties. And he was using God as a wing man. She glared at him again. "You are twisted." _

_Jimmy shrugged and leaned back on his heels. "Probably. But you like me anyway."_

_Her eyes popped indignantly. "I do not!" _

"_Do."_

"_Don't"_

"_Do."_

"_DON'T!" _

_Jimmy grinned at her. "Methinks the Lady doth protest too much."_

_Emily crossed her arms. "Methinks you're an ass." _

_And at that moment Jimmy's grin did something very dangerous. It lost its arrogance, and turned warm and soft and…genuine. He reached out and touched the side of her face, just a gentle touch. Nothing sinister or sexual. Just a touch. But they both felt its power. It was raw and frighteningly real. And, God help her, it was everything. _

-----

Emily blinked her eyes to clear away the memory. But it wasn't nearly that simple and she had a feeling it never would be. She sighed, pushing a little deeper into the confines of her seat and stared, not really seeing, out the plane's window.

Everything.

The way Jimmy had touched her face that day, so gentle and telling, it _had_ been everything. And, at least in her eyes, it had continued to be. Up until two weeks ago. Then Everything turned into Nothing.

But she didn't want to think about that now; because if she did she'd just drive herself crazy trying to pin down a reason why, to pick out a specific moment in time when it all shifted and they lost their _Everything_. And she didn't want to do that. It hurt too much. And in her heart she knew that she'd never really find the answers she wanted. It's a little difficult to find things that don't exist.

They didn't end because of any one thing; they ended because it was time. They'd been together for five years, an eternity to someone their age. They'd loved each other with ferocity and passion she thought reserved only for the movies, but that was the whole problem. You can only burn so bright, for so long. Eventually, even the hottest of flames die out. It was a tired cliché but it was true. It wouldn't be a cliché if it didn't apply at least some of the time. She and Jimmy had finally run their tumultuous course. It was sad, confusing even, but it happens. That simply had to be good enough for her.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are beginning our final descent into Port Charles; if you'd please make sure your safety belts are securely fastened..." The Stewardess' kind voice chirped through the cabin and Emily, pulled from her thoughts again, tugged reflexively on her seatbelt just to check. And then peered—this time with focused eyes—at the approaching skyline.

She'd never been to Port Charles. She'd heard of it. In fact, she even knew someone who lived there. A woman she'd met in a different life. She'd been kind and genuine. A tender soul who, to this day, despite how difficult it was to look back on that time in her life, still sprung to Emily's mind ever so often. Funny how such a brief encounter with a person can sometimes affect you so deeply, especially when you're a kid. But then a lot of things from her childhood had affected her deeply. Not nearly enough in a positive manner.

So, then maybe the memory of that woman, with her bright blue eyes and endearing smile, had played some part, however small, in her decision to come here. But Emily was convinced that's all it was. Just the feeling she got when she thought of the city. That there, somewhere in that jumble of sprawling estates and high rise buildings, was one of the last people on Earth who her mother ever considered a friend. It wasn't like Emily intended to contact her or anything, but the knowledge that she was there made the endeavor in front of her just a little less daunting. And, in some strange way, it made her feel just a little closer to her mother, something Emily had been striving to feel for almost ten years now, and had always managed to fall short of.

But even though, inwardly, she was grappling with the idea of seeking out Monica Quartermaine, she kept telling herself it would be a mistake. It was enough that she'd let such a vague memory be her compass for such a hugely important decision, she didn't need to further complicate things by trying to meet the woman. And besides, what would they have to talk about? Her mother was dead, and Monica was alive. Call her crazy, but Emily just couldn't envision the cheery conversation in that.

No, she thought, forcing herself to swallow the idea, she had her own memories of Paige. She didn't need some woman, Paige's friend or not, to tell her anything more about her mother. And that wasn't even what all this was about. It was about carving a way for herself and finding out who in the hell she really was. The last thing she needed, especially now, was to get wrapped up in the world of a bunch of people she barely knew. It just wouldn't be a good idea.

The runway began to draw nearer and Emily let the finality of the plane's descent wash over her. This was it. In a few short minutes they'd be on the ground and the doors would open and she'd be stepping into a new existence, one where Georgia summer days filled with smirking boys and wandering hands, were far, far behind her. Out there was a new beginning, and this time _she'd_ be the one in control, the one calling the shots. The idea sent a giddy thrill down her spine. _Her_. Just little Emmie. And sure as Hell not some drop dead gorgeous, pale-eyed blond.

Yeah, right. Like she'd ever let _that_ happen again.

----------

**TBC… **

_Next Chapter:_ Wherein Jason and Sonny come across a problem, Emily rents a room, does some apartment hunting, and happens upon an attempted murder in progress. Welcome to Port Charles.

**(a/n)** Its super short I know, but I think I'm going to take a different approach with this story. I'm going to keep the chapters all pretty short; I think that may help me with getting them out quickly. But anyway, hoped you guys like it, and I promise this will be the last "she's heading out on her own" chapter; I know how boring that can be. Starting with the next chapter things will pick up speed a lot, not so many internals (only when we need background). The good stuff is on its way! Promise! Also, because I'm frightfully lazy, the PC setup, as in the current goings on, will come NEXT chapter. There's a lot I need to get straight, lol.

Oh, and don't forget to review! Thanks!

Laters! –Loke :o)


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